The Sarmatian
by Calliope Foster
Summary: My mother once said that the restless spirits of great men may become our hoofed companions, but those women who were great grew wings.” R&R please! And enjoy! changed and updated August 19
1. The Sarmatian

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nobody by the characterizations of Bedivere, Lamorak, Percival, and Kay. I would like to obtain the rights to the knights of 'King Arthur', but sadly that would be near impossible.

**Author:** Boadicea  
**Rating**: PG-13 (some references)  
**Summary**: When searching Sarmatians, what is noted above all is their history of warrior women. I am surprised, and slightly appalled, that they made no mention of this in the movie 'King Arthur', so I did. Happy day!

**Please comment on this, tell me how I did!**

**Prologue**

"We've come for our trade, Sarmatians."

The thought drew tears to Mother's eyes, blackened Father's face, and I stared straight ahead. Still, the duty was there and no sons had been lucky enough to survive the bitter winter. I had grown thin, nearly bones, and the curves of a woman had vanished. If Rome could not have sons, then we would have no food.

I stepped forward, offering myself for my people. "My name is Bedivere," I swallowed hard, the name of my brother, my twin, my best friend, catching in my throat, "I am only fourteen, but I am able."

My mother moved to stop me, but my father held her back. The Romans stared at my father, our chieftain. "Is this true?"

"Yes," my father cleared his rusty throat and lowered his eyes in reverence, "he is a strong lad."

"He looks barely able to stand." The Roman grunted cruelly as I kept my eyes on him at all times, my boldness giving me strength. "You have until midday to say your goodbyes."

The Romans, high on their horses, moved back and I turned to my family's tent, walking in silence as my aunts and uncles stared on, holding their own children. My mother ran after me just as I entered the tent and when I turned back I saw the horror and fear in her eyes. "Why?" My mother gaped in awe and agony. "Why, Barcaide?"

My father stalked into the tent. "Let her go. She will be the beacon for us all."

Bursting into tears, my mother ran into the other side of the tent, weeping as if I was already dead. I forced the sound of her sobs out of my thoughts and went about packing some things for myself, mostly my brother's things. "Girl." A hand went on my shoulder. "Look at your father."

I turned, feel the wind from outside cool the tears on my cheeks as my father took my face in his hands. "If I could, I would go in your place, but our people need me as much as they need you." As he spoke, the tears flowed freer. "Remember where you came from; remember the women who brought glory to our people—the fearful mothers that battled Greeks and Romans alike. They lie within _you_."

My thoughts went to the mark on my right breast, the practice that had been handed down for centuries, the seared mark of the warrior. I felt my heart swell with pride and smiled. "Thank you, Father."

We embraced, for the first time I remembered, and with that he left me. I looked to where my mother had encased herself, in her part of the tent. At first I wanted to bid my farewell, but I knew, one look into her eyes and I would not be able to leave. Silently, I left the tent. "I'm ready."

"So soon?" The Roman stared at me in confusion. "You do know that this may be the last time you see your people?"

"I do." I replied without fear. "And I've said all that is needed."

**The Sarmatian**

Tristan sat silently at my side, his goblet still filled to the brim as a boring speech was led by some bishop who's glory was in the rings and robes he wore—not in his faith. I let my hand stray over, trying to hide a smile and only grimacing painfully as I bit my lip, and then I gently stuck out my finger.

The goblet began to tip and the wine was beginning to spill over until I felt a strong hand encompass my wrist and twist it. I nearly cried out when Tristan released my wrist and sat quietly, the bishop glaring through one open eye at me. Everyone else's head was bent in prayer, as usual, except for Lancelot, who cared less.

I quickly went back to my original position and then became bored. Percival sat to my left, looking out from under his blonde curls. Slowly, he leaned over. "I _swear_ that man loves to hear the sound of his own voice."

"You owe me two gold coins for this." I reminded him of the bet beforehand. "It'll be nightfall by the time we leave this place."

A flick came to my ear and I instantly fell silent, the man on my right giving me a strong musing scowl. "Amen."

The finale of the prayer was followed by a few relieved sighs. Tristan sat up then, raising his brow and glancing at me as he took a sip of his drink. "Next time I catch you doing that, I'll cut your hand off, Bedivere."

"You'd find far too much pleasure in that, Tristan."

Going back to his drink, Tristan stood and proceeded to seek a new companion. It was time to mingle until the food was ready. When Tristan and I met, we had instantly become enemies. Firstly, I was much younger than him, a good five years, and secondly, he was far too quiet for his own good. Tristan had also been one of the young men there that day, when I was separated from my family and he gave me his canteen out of good will.

I thought him arrogant and he thought me boastful; now look at us. We had been forced to fight against each other, to challenge each other's strength and it was in this that we had become friends. For some reason, I think he always knew the truth, but he was too kind to ever say it or ever want anything in exchange. I'm sure that I certainly wasn't the only female within the ranks.

"Where are you going?"

I looked to Percival. "I'll be back, don't worry old friend."

Suddenly the loud and ever friendly Bors appeared, his bright eyes laughing at me like always. "Still clean shaven," Bors slapped my tender face, "you'll grow out of it boy—some of us men never come of it until our first shave."

"Bors," I rubbed my stinging cheek, "will you never cease to abuse me?"

"Not until you get all that air out of that head of yours." Bors shot back, Dagonet shaking his head.

"Don't listen to him, Bedivere." Dagonet insisted. "He's full of air himself."

I passed by, coming to a familiar face, that of Kay, Arthur's step brother. In silence we stared at each other, his dark eyes reaching my own and my lighter ones staring in return. Lancelot had been the only man I feared, the only man I truly feared, because he knew too much.

Passing by him, I went back to my seat, the air had become stifling and the hot foods being passed round now sickened me. I took my same seat between Tristan and Percivale. "Here," Percival smiled, pressing two gold coins before me, "your payment."

"What for?" Lamorak, on the other side of Percival, asked.

"Nothing, really." I replied, sure my face had gone pale at the sight of the food as I held my stomach.

"What's the matter?"

I turned to see Tristan eating and I knew I could no longer take it. A quick pardon and I moved from the hall, bounding with laughter, to the outer reaches of the hall. I never had a weak stomach and the air outside lessened my pains.

Sitting down, I pressed my back against the building and closed my eyes, the dizzying smells from inside fading away. The soft crunch of boots in the light snowfall harkened me.

"Tristan…" I had nearly gone for my dagger.

Silently, Tristan came to my side and slid down to take his own seat. "You should go back inside and eat," I insisted, "I'll be all right."

For a moment Tristan stared at me, the dark markings on his cheekbones making his eyes lighter. "I wouldn't be much of a friend then, would I?"

I smiled at that. Over the years we had found solace in each other, his silence and my talkative nature. Still, we hardly knew anything about each other and I believe that was better for the both of us.

Why had I risked myself? Why had I risked certain death for my own people's sake? "Were you afraid when the Romans came for you, Tristan?"

Tristan raised his brow, knowing that my rambling was only to keep the underlying problem at bay, but he answered anyway. "Afraid of leaving those I love, yes."

I paused, my tongue feeling heavy as my heart. "I see them sometimes…when I dream." Tristan went on, knowing I wouldn't. "I can hear their voices, their cries, but mostly I see them staring at me…I can't move. They just stand there, looking at me, calling me home."

Swallowing, I let my shoulders slump. "Sometimes, I think, had I the choice, I would have rather died with them."

"Yes, but none of us had that choice." Tristan then looked straight at me, seeing through me as always. "Least of all, you."

Tristan stood and held out his hand. "Come, before Bors eats your supper."

Kay was twice my size, tall and bulky—he might as well as been of Saxon blood. He called for me that night, as most nights, and his wishes were the usual. Payment for my secret. "I can't," I dipped my eyes low, "the moon has not turned."

At that Kay frowned, angry. "You've been saying that for some time now."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"I'm saying that our bargain is to be kept," Kay shot back, "should you want to keep your head on your shoulders."

"I'm not afraid of the Romans—you neither—"

Kay slammed me against the wall, his lips trapping mine while his hand went below. I kicked him and bit his tongue, but he didn't flinch. Suddenly I was on the ground, my left cheekbone throbbing as I coughed. "Try that again wench," Kay snapped, "and you'll wish you never left your mother's womb."

I spit at his feet, my sight becoming fuzzy from his huge fist. "You'll have to do more than that to deter me."

Just then footsteps could be heard down the hall and Kay shot me a threatening look before stalking away. Gathering myself together, I stood. "Bedivere!"

I saw the blood on my hand from my lip and then quickly looked to my left to see Percival and Galahad coming my way. "We're going to the tavern!" Percival called.

"I'll be there in a minute," I promised, "go on without me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" I said hastily, trying to hide my face from Galahad. "Now go!"

Galahad stared at me, but said nothing. He was only a year older than me and he had the look of a man while I still held the wide-eyed, clean look of a boy. The pair ran off and I felt that awful fear creeping over me. What if Kay should tell Arthur? Even worse, what if word got to Rome? I couldn't let that happen.

My blood had ceased over a week ago, but it was the only thing that kept the hungry Kay from taking me to his chambers. Slowly, like a beaten dog, I went to his chambers.

"What happened there?" Gawain asked drunkenly. "Some girl slap you, Bedivere?"

The men laughed, most with women hanging from their shoulders or kept on their laps. "Very funny." I shot back, looking jovial in return. "I fell off my damn horse."

"What? You already drunk, lad?"

"Might as well be." I shot back, taking the biggest jar of mead I could find, drowning myself in it quickly.

The whole clan shouted in delight, knowing my ability to keep down alcohol. "Drink! Drink! Drink!"

Chants of the men grew louder and louder as I closed my eyes, letting the thick, sour liquid run down my throat until only a trickle came. Everyone cheered and offered me drinks as most went back to wenching, drinking, or singing. Bors had all his little numbers, or as he called them 'bastards' about him, with his preferred woman, Vanora laughing.

I found my seat by Tristan, who was, as usual, throwing knives at whatever targets he found. Galahad was watching with Percival and Lamorak. "Can you teach me how to do that, Tristan?"

"No," Tristan replied, not even glancing at Percival, "you'd hurt yourself."

At that I snickered, feeling the effects of the mead as I leaned over to grab some bread, a knife going past my head. "That looks awful, Bedivere." Galahad commented. "You couldn't have gotten that falling off of a horse—it looks like someone punched you."

"Well they didn't." I retorted. "And had someone punched me, you would have heard the ruckus."

"He's right." Lamorak laughed. "You know Bedivere—Arthur likes to call him the 'mouth and voice of Sarmatia'."

Percival frowned. "I thought that was Bors."

"Well, it was one or the other."

I say Tristan look at my face out of the corner of his eye as I took another shameful drink that slowly washed the pain away.

"We have to go north." Arthur said, looking each of us in the eye in turn. "There have been Saxon raids on Roman homes north of the Hadrian Wall."

"That's why they built the wall." I grumbled to whomever would hear. "So that Romans would stay in and the heathens out."

Tristan shot me a warning glance and Arthur went on. "We've lost so many friends already, pray we lose no more…we ride in a week's time."

All the men groaned in reply and with that Lancelot stood. "We ride for Rome—for _Arthur_."

We all cheered in reply. "Arthur!"

The congregation disassembled then, but Lancelot caught my arm before Kay. "Arthur needs to speak with you." He said. "There are matters at hand."

I felt cold at that, but nodded in assent. "I will be there."

Before Kay could come towards me, I saw a group of men invade and go drink with him. I went to speak with Arthur.

When I arrived at his side he smiled at me kindly, our friendship always silent, but I, like all the other men, loved and respected him. "Bedivere, won't you go drink a while with the others?"

"You wished to speak with me, Arthur." I replied. "My duty is to you, first."

At that Arthur nodded, not a word filled his head like air in a pack, but he went ahead as I followed obediently. "The bishop has come to me with some concern." Arthur said while I closed the door behind us. "Are my men unruly, Bedivere?"

I stared at my leader, confused. "Must you ask me, Arthur?"

Laughing in reply, Arthur sat down. "Above all, Bedivere, you are most honest. I trust you with my own sword and life."

"Perhaps that is so." I smirked, taking the seat he offered. "But Lancelot is the man you've known longest and best."

Going silent, Arthur did not consider my words, but instead proceeded in his questioning. "You have a light build, Bedivere, lighter than most men, and your face remains untarnished by a man's growth." My hands became sweaty as Arthur continued. "You retain a humble appearance, but you make up for that in your loyalty. Recently, there have been voiced rumors of you…my step brother, the man who's father took me in, has commented on the things I've stated."

That pig. That filthy son of a whore's ass. "Just because I am not like every other man here," I began my defense quickly, my voice rising, "does that mean I can fight any less?"

For a moment Arthur stared at me, his green eyes conveying his worry, but then he nodded in agreement. "You're right…forgive me for any offense, my friend."

"You have every right," my anger faded, "but…might I ask, what is it, _exactly_, that Kay has been saying?"

"He says that you are a woman." Arthur said, noting my sweaty brow and fidgeting. "But Kay's mouth is larger than his own brain."

I laughed nervously. "If you don't mind me saying, that is truly and understatement."

When Arthur laughed, too, I calmed a bit more. "Go, Bedivere, enjoy your week."

I stood as Arthur did and he came around to greet me, examining my eyes. "Be wary, Bedivere, of those alliances you forge to protect you."

_"Above all, Bedivere, you are most honest."_

I woke with a start, sweat beading down my face. The talk with Arthur still fresh in my mind, the hate for Sir Kay still pounding in my heart…I threw a feather pillow off the bed and the sound of glass smashing followed.

Furiously, I threw my head back into the remaining pillow.

The week was nearly at an end when Arthur called for us. The left side of my face had just begun to calm now, when a fight between Kay and myself had broken out in front of all the men to see. He had nearly ripped my shirt open when he grabbed me, but Tristan had thwarted him.

Gawain, Bors, and Dagonet had to hold Kay at bay while I stood. My jaw still felt funny, Kay had a black eye from Lancelot, in turn Lancelot had a bandaged fist, and now there was no turning back—I had been bullied by the huge knight for the last time. When I thwarted Kay's attempts at dishonoring me, he became a savage.

But the talk was not about the tavern brawl, but because of Kay's ambitions to have me pay. After a brief admonishing, Arthur allowed Bishop Augustus to speak. "There is word that a traitor is among these ranks." Augustus said making each man speechless, as well as Arthur. "This is something intolerable, absolute blasphemy and he—or rather _she_—must be eradicated before word reaches Rome. It would be shameful, embarrassing, so I suggest that any man that knows anything come forward. Especially the _perpetrator_."

I tried to stand, but I felt a hand grasp my arm while Arthur looked to me. Kay didn't even move, he was watching me the whole time with those searing eyes while the bishop scowled at all of us. Kay stood then, a sadistic grin crossing his lips. "I say that each man in question be ordered to strip where all can see."

The bishop was about to comply when Arthur stood, appalled by the notion. "These men are good men, sir," Arthur began, "and I will have no one dishonor them in privacy or public."

Lancelot took a deep drink. "I assure you that each man here can vouch for his own loins."

Arthur ignored his friend's comment and went on. "I will speak with each man on his own tonight."

"I order a witness." Kay stated. "I want this fair, Arthur."

"Fine." Arthur agreed, then looked to the bishop. "Bishop Augustus, I invite you to the private council."

"Run away," Percival whispered harshly, "tonight, if you ask, I will go with you."

"If they'd find us, they'd surely kill the two of us."

Percival stared at me, he knew it as well, and backed away. Tristan's grip never left my arm and when Arthur and the bishop retired to speak alone, he looked to me. "Arthur will see that no harm comes to you."

In order the men were called, from the right side of Arthur round. I was not last, but I was far from first and the fear was killing me. Tristan slapped my knee before leaving. "Don't do anything stupid." I commanded him.

With a wink, Tristan stalked off and disappeared into the chambers, the other men whispering. I felt a presence behind me. Percival and Lamorak stood up first, facing Kay before me.

"Why don't you let a man face his own fights?"

I stood, turning to Kay, about to say something to spark his rage, when my name was called. "Bedivere."

Tristan came out, a smirk on his face, Arthur sweating furiously behind him. Gods above, what had Tristan gone and done?

When I entered the bishop was in an awful state of anger, and he glared at me. "Let's make this _quick_, boy."

"Bedivere, are you a lady?"

I tried to hide my smile at Arthur's strangely sarcastic tone. "No."

"You may go." Arthur said, but then the Bishop stopped me.

"Why haven't you a beard yet, son?"

"My father never grew one." I shrugged in reply, letting the words calmly come from my mouth. "I find it much easier to take care of, don't you?"

At that the bishop gave me leave and when I entered the room, all the knights waiting patiently and silently, cheered at my lone arrival. I laughed, men rushing me and rubbing my hair around. Kay was absolutely furious.

I jerked at the sound of the door opening—I had kept it open. When I turned from the prayers to my own gods, I saw Arthur. "May I come in, Bedivere?"

"Of course." I replied, quickly standing and making arrangements to better suit my leader.

Arthur grabbed my arm, his thicker, broader hands encircling my own, thinner wrists. "Don't fuss, sit."

The door closed behind him and I reluctantly sat on my cot as Arthur pulled up a chair. I knew what was coming. "I am going to discharge you…on false reports of being wounded."

"Arthur, please—"

"It's all I can do save you, Bed—" Arthur stopped himself and looked away, my heart breaking, "it's all I can do."

"No, Arthur, I beg of you!" I knelt before him, taking his hands in mine. "What will I do? How have I any knowledge of womanhood? All I know is warfare and—this is my _life_, Arthur. Don't you see? I'd die without these men; a _slow_, painful death. Ten years ago I was only fourteen years old, looking at my family, their faces staring back into mine. I had survived that bitter winter—I needed to give _them_ a chance, too."

Arthur stared at me, but lowered his eyes. "Don't do this, _please_."

"Look at me, Arthur," I commanded, "one last battle, that is all I ask, and I will go. I will leave everything I know and love behind—for _your_ sake. I only ask for _one_ more battle."

With that said, Arthur gave a burdened sigh, contemplating my bargain and then raising his head, placing a hand on my cheek. "One _last_ battle."

"Thank you, oh thank you my lord," I pressed my face to his hands and kissed them over and over, "oh Arthur, thank you."

Kay had fallen ill. He would not see the battle and so Arthur had more reason to take me. "Had I known what Kay was doing to you," Lancelot glanced at me, "I'd have killed him myself—all of us would have. He boats of his triumphs of you now."

I stared at Lancelot, shame reddening my face. "You would do that for me?"

"I would do anything for those I love." Lancelot replied. "Most of all you, Bedivere."

"You are not ashamed of me, then?"

"Never." He said. "How could I be ashamed of you? You saved my life once, Bedivere, took up Arthur's sword and saved the both of us. I thought you yourself would die, due to how small you are, but I was wrong."

"You don't admit to that very often."

Lancelot laughed and knuckled my head. "You're still one of my brothers, Bedivere, no matter what that damn bishop says."

We all rode silently; I stayed near Tristan and Percival, as usual. Percival and I joked, with a new heaviness in our laughs, but Tristan said nothing. I saw a hawk overhead, flying, and Tristan, lifting his own eyes, smiled at the sight. "There must be a nest nearby." Lamorak commented.

"You know," I said, Tristan's horse coming closer while Percival and Galahad began to race, "my mother once said that the restless spirits of great men may become our hoofed companions, but those women who were great grew wings."

Tristan turned to me. "Were you frightened when the Romans came for you?"

"No," I said, gazing into his dark eyes, "because I knew it had to be done."

At that Tristan nodded. "Then that makes you braver than any man here."

An arrow came whizzing by, striking with deadly aim. Lamorak gasped, holding his heart and crying out. Percival cried out for his brother, the horses became startled, and I saw the small legion of blonde haired warriors up ahead. Tristan glanced at me and then brought out his own bow. "Look to the skies for me, Tristan."

He looked at me, alarmed. "What?"

Quickly, without the least bit of fear, I leaned over and kissed Tristan's cheek. "The skies."

I squeezed my steed's sides and forced him ahead, past Arthur. "What's he doing?" Gawain cried.

Bors bellowed. "You're daft!"

My horse galloped beneath me, our breathing matched, and my hair flowed freely as we went together, toward the ambush. I reached for my sword, I felt the searing heat of pain in my right shoulder and I nearly lost my blade. Not this time, I told myself, no—these men were my brothers and if I had to leave them, I would leave them fighting for them.

"Bedivere!"

Managing to raise my sword, I cut down one of enemies, their shock showing more than my own pain. I felt the slicing of another arrow, followed by the sharp cut of a blade to my ribcage. Not with just one—I had to do more. I owed Arthur more.

"Ah!"

I gazed right into the eyes of a Saxon, his blue eyes meeting my own, his sword through my chest. Warm blood spread quickly, but my own sword met his neck. The sword remained through my middle as I raised my sword one last time, my horse throwing himself back.

With the Saxon's attention on me, the men had an advantage. I saw blue, my strength went and I hit the ground, the sword landing at my side, and my horse pawing for air below me. Two more arrows, to make sure I would die. I coughed, gasping for air, my whole body going numb and then…I saw the charge of men behind me and a shadow cover me. My ancestors called me home from above.

**Epilogue**

Bedivere was buried, like every other knight, his own sword to mark his meager grave—Lamorak buried nearby, soon followed by Percival and Kay from sickness. Tristan returned as often as he could, not to be reminded of her death, but to assure her that her life was not one wasted.

This trip was different, as Tristan approached the grave, a young hawk landed deftly on the sword. Perched there, the bird squawked at him, beckoning him. At first, Tristan went still and silent, but then he moved forward.

Patiently, the hawk waited as Tristan approached slowly. Whistling softly, the hawk observed Tristan and flinched when he put out his hand. Spreading its wings the hawk went to the air and Tristan was sure he'd seen the last of it until it landed softly on his shoulder.

"Welcome back," Tristan smiled, gently caressing the brown feathers of the bird, "old friend."


	2. Brothers

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nobody by the characterizations of Bedivere, Lamorak, Percival, and Kay (now 'Cai'). I would like to obtain the rights to the knights of 'King Arthur', but sadly that would be near impossible.

**Author:** Boadicea

**Rating**: PG-13 (some references)  
**Summary**: When searching Sarmatians, what is noted above all is their history of warrior women. I am surprised, and slightly appalled, that they made no mention of this in the movie 'King Arthur', so I did. Happy day! I actually decided to add on to the one-shot! It's kind of a small back story; there might be a few of these. Tell me how I did!

**Brothers**

For some time we traveled in silence, but a young man, about my age, rode up beside me. "My name's Percival," the stout blonde said, he was my height, and I had been tall for a girl, "what's yours?"

"Bedivere." I replied quickly, keeping my head down.

The boy turned to me in curiosity. "That was my uncle's name. I'm coming to join my brother; he went to Rome only a year ago."

I smiled tentatively. "That's nice."

"You look famished." Percival said and then brought out a pouch. "I have some dried meat if you'd like it."

"Thank you." I agreed shyly, taking the pouch he handed me.

"I caught the boar." Percival said proudly. "My mother smoked and dried it for me."

'Lazy little twit' I thought, but the smell of the jerky was wonderful. I took one piece and couldn't help but take a few more. "It's good, isn't it?"

"Yes," I replied through a mouthful and handed him back his jerky, "thanks again."

"Keep it." Percival insisted with a smile. "You need it more than I."

I glanced over my shoulder, my home now out of sight. Guilt swept over me for keeping the food and when I tried to swallow, it lodged in my throat. There is something to be said about boys and girls: they are more alike than they wish to believe. It is when you are aware of the distinctions there is a rift, but when you are embraced, as a true equal, without any trace of difference, that is when you are truly a person. I was like every other boy, a little small and perhaps slightly more fragile, but that was overlooked.

Being accepted as a boy, I grew stronger and I began to retain a form, though I grew very careful of it. When we arrived at the camp, there were many other boys there, some who arrived at the same time as myself, while others had been there for years. The camp was in a place called Britannia, a rainy island far from Sarmatia.

Upon arrival we were instantly given 'sparring' partners (boys we'd fight against to gain strength), who would also be our bunkmates. A large officer named Ectorius, with a hulking son named Cassius at his side, announced our partners, boys who had been at the camp for a time.

I received a quiet boy named Tristan, who had been there for only a year in training, but like all boys they had been brought up to fight and survive. Silently, Tristan walked past me, ignoring me and going toward a series of tents. I stood in confusion, watching after him as all the other boys picked up their belongings and off they went. Sighing, I picked up my small pack and followed after Tristan in a huff.

Entering a small tent after Tristan, I waited for a signal, but he only threw himself on a cot and got to sleeping. Annoyed, I threw my things down, making as much noise as possible while going about, tidying things up. _Stop that_, I told myself, _you're acting like a girl._ "What are you doing?"

I looked to see Tristan still lying on the cot, annoyingly enough, and he scratched himself without regard. Out of all the things I should have said, I remained civil, noting the dryness in my throat from the jerky. "Where's the nearest spring?

The dark eyed boy saw my discomfort spying me with uncertainty and then tossed me his canteen. I caught it and nodded to him, taking a wary drink. "Thank you."

Tristan turned and buried his face in the pillow. There was something about him I already didn't like.

"Sweet dreams." I grumbled and left the tent only to come face to face with Percival.

"Bedivere—oh good!" Percival said excitedly. "This is my brother Lamorak, and this is Galahad."

"Hello, Lamorak." I nodded the older, thinner version of Percival, and then to Galahad. "Galahad." I turned back to Percival. "Is he your brother, too?"

"No," Percival laughed, "he's only just arrived, like us, but with a different party."

"Percival says you have jerky." Galahad insisted.

"May we have a bit?"

"Certainly." I brought out the pouch. "My stomach isn't much for eating right now."

"What's he doing in there?" Lamorak asked, spying Tristan and then chuckling. "Good old Tristan—oy! Trist! Wake up!"

Let me tell you this, men are pushy, physical in all ways, and incredibly pushy. Some are pushy from the beginning and get pushier towards the end and some become timid when they're older, but they're all pushy. Without even excusing himself, Lamorak shoved me out of the way and went inside, attacking Tristan. "Wake up!" He leapt on the young man without hesitation.

"Go away!" Tristan growled. "You bastard, Lamorak!"

The two broke into an instant brawl. I was terrified—was this how men behaved at all times? "Come on now, Trist!" Lamorak broke free of Tristan's grip on his lovely blonde hair. "You've no time for sleeping, you've got to show Bedivere here around."

"He can find out for himself," Tristan sent a glance in my direction to see my reaction as he stood, helping Lamorak to his feet like a common friend, "you can find your way around here on your own, right, Bedivere?"

I was already furious. "Of course I can."

"Good." Tristan smirked. "I'm going back to bed."

"All right." Lamorak sighed, looking to us. "You may come with us then, Bedivere—if Tristan's going to act like some emperor over there."

At that, Tristan came towards me. "Come on."

I would have rather gone with Lamorak, but was swiftly pulled away by Tristan, who had a firm grip on my collar. Several young men called Tristan's name, saying hellos, but he only waved and moved on. One stopped us, asking my name. "Who's the runt?"

A large boy made his way toward us, another at his side, slightly taller. "Bors, leave the boy alone," he commanded, then looked to Tristan with a smile, "aye, Trist."

Tristan nodded. "Dagonet."

"What's the matter?" Bors growled, coming closer to my face. "Cat got your tongue?"

I frowned at Bors, the smell of his breath atrocious. "You're very rude, you know that?"

At that Bors grew in rage, his pride weakened by my boldness in front of the other two, who now chuckled. "Oh am I, pretty boy?" Bors snapped. "Do you know who you're speaking to?"

I was sick of my treatment amongst these fools. "I don't rightly care."

Suddenly I was on the ground, the left side of my head throbbing—Bors had clapped me one hard enough to send me into the netherworld. Bors came for me again, but one of the boys was quick to stop him. "That's enough Bors, leave him be," the one names Dagonet defended, "I think he's learned his lesson."

Bors glared at me. "He better have."

With a spit in my eye, Bors hulked off as I wiped his phlegm from my face. "Dag!"

Dagonet sighed looking at me in pity and then to Tristan, who could have cared less. "Look out for him, will you, Trist?"

Tristan shrugged as Dagonet walked off. "Has to learn somehow."

I glared at Tristan, hoping somehow, I could hold some sort of power over him—you know that womanly glare you could give a man to send chills down his spine, but when you're a boy it's seen only as weakness. Tristan only gazed at me nonchalantly. Wordlessly, I lifted myself up, dusted myself off, and started back for the tent. "Don't you want to finish the tour, your highness?"

A cruel mockery, but I didn't acknowledge his stupidity one bit. Instead, I only wiped furiously at my stinging eyes while I went back to the tent. "I'll run away," I told myself softly, "I'll get off this rainy old island and—"

No, I couldn't. I couldn't run away for the world—what would they do to my family? The Romans had put salt into the already barren fields, so as to keep us from having _any_ crops. Tristan came in silently behind me as I opened my small package of items. I had eaten the meager loaf of bread my father had given me, but there was still more there than I bargained for.

Already I had learned to hide my gender, taking quick breaks for the bathroom alone and bathing at midnight. I was no foolish girl. "What are you doing?"

I barely acknowledged the cur. "I thought you might have gotten it through your thick skull that arrogance gets you nowhere here, boy—unless you're in someone's favor."

"I see you've been properly taught in these ways." I shot back.

Tristan took a seat as he laughed at me. "Bitter little boy," he mocked, "do you miss your mother so?"

I glared at Tristan. "Be glad you were here last winter, in the comforts of the Romans, while your own people gathered meager rations from your emperor."

"He is not my emperor." Tristan defended swiftly and then his face softened a little.

With that, Tristan exited the tent, leaving me on my own. I was never so terrified in my life—left alone with men surrounding me. "Trist—oh!" An unfamiliar boy stepped. "Hello, are you his sparring partner this year?"

I glanced around nervously, then looked to the ebony haired boy. "I am."

"What's your name then?" He came him, his demeanor cheerier than most.

There was no pain in saying it this time. "Bedivere."

A young, but callused hand stretched toward me. "Hello, Bedivere, my name's Lancelot."

I took his hand timidly. Lancelot was no more than twenty, Tristan probably his age as well, like Bors and Dagonet, but he was so incredibly handsome…I could barely take my eyes from him. Eyes like midnight, like that curly mop of his, and that lovely formed face that was beginning to come about. "Hello…Lancelot."

"You're a lucky one, getting Tristan, he's one of the best swordsmen we have," Lancelot insisted and then grinned, "second to me, of course."

Always boasting—I was learning already and laughed, but I had no place to boast…yet. "So what tribe do you hail from, Bedivere?"

"My father's family name was Drenis, but my mother came from the north." I explained. "She never told me where she was from."

"You have light eyes," Lancelot replied, taking notice, "I'd not be surprised if she came all the way from Gaul."

I could not blush—no, no blushing—I smiled in reply. "She was quite a woman."

"Yes, all mothers are," Lancelot gave a nod, but then the tent flap opened, "Tristan!"

"What are you doing here?"

_How inviting_, I thought. "I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to sparring with me tomorrow in front of the General Ectorius—you're the best man for the job."

"I'll be there." Tristan grunted, something large hiding under his shirt.

"See you there." Lancelot left and gave me a slap on the shoulder, nearly knocking the wind from me. "See you, Bedivere."

"Nice meeting you…" I replied, angelic dreamy form disappearing and my confidence draining, "Lancelot."

When I glanced back at Tristan I saw he had a whole cask of wine. "What in the world—"

Tristan slipped the cask beneath his cot and then looked at me with a grin before lying down on the cot. "Go and frolic for a while, boy, you bore me."

I kicked dust up at him before running from the tent.

The days passed slowly at first. I was used to waking up early, but not clear before the sunrise, and I was used to doing hard work, but not the entire day without rest. Tristan was rather easy going compared to other sparring partners, but when we brought up arms he was incredibly swift at correcting me. Although we fought with wooden sword, twice he had broken my own, once he had poked me in the eye, and another time he drew blood on my arm.

Still, I found my place amongst the men. I found I laughed at their crude jokes that had once been insulting and we shared everything from food to water, just as my twin brother and I had done all our lives. Percival, Galahad, and I were closest, due to us being the same age, and when we had extra time we rarely spent it apart, except when there were private matters.

While some boys were beaten, taunted, tormented, or worse by their older sparring partners, this being handed down, I can only remember one time that Tristan beat on me and that was when we moved to real swords. We had been sparring and I made a move to open myself up to anyone. I was nineteen and he was twenty four, he bowled me over with one punch to the chest and then pulled me back to my feet, chastising me for how I could have gotten killed if he was a Saxon, but that will come later.

For now, it was only a month into my hell when Tristan revealed his portion of casks he had pilfered from the Romans. He had five under his cot—I believe that was the first time I actually felt some respect for the cur.

When I walked into the tent, the party had already begun. "Ahh! There he is!" Galahad cried. "Bedivere, this is Arthur."

A shy looking young man lifted his hand in salute and I did the same. "Hello Bedivere."

"Arthur."

"So you spar with good old Trist, aye?"

I nodded in reply and Arthur chuckled. "Pity you."

They were all slightly drunken already as they laughed and Tristan ignored their comments. "Let me have some, Lamorak!"

"Not too much, Percival," Lamorak insisted as he allowed his brother only a sip of the wine, "that's enough."

"But Lamorak—"

"Shut-it!"

I stood up, no longer feeling safe amongst the growing odor of alcohol wafting into the tent. "Where are you going, boy?"

Gawain, the sparring partner of Galahad, was staring right at me. "Out to the lavatory."

Bors, the riff raff, glared at me in suspicion. "He'll tell."

"I won't," I assured the boys, trying my best to win their favor, "I won't tell anyone, I swear."

"On your mother's grave?"

Dagonet frowned. "Bors!"

"He won't tell." Tristan assured, seeing my discomfort.

With that the boys went back to drinking as I tried to escape from the tent, but a huge figure came bounding in. "What's going on here?"

All the boys looked horrified, then looked to me. "Welcome," Tristan smirked, "sit, Cai, and have a drink with us."

Cai, the son of Ectorius, who's real name was Cassius, glared at them, everyone held their breath, and finally, the huge boy assented. "Give me some of that."

Relieved, the boys laughed and allowed him to join. I exited the tent then, passing by a dark haired figure. "Bedivere!"

I turned to see Lancelot and smiled brilliantly, the dark night making him unable to see my blush. "Hello Lancelot."

Like I was some sort of hound, Lancelot rubbed my hair around. "Tristan gave me word," he laughed, "how far along are they?"

At first I didn't understand and then I chuckled. "Tristan's far beyond his limit."

"Good," Lancelot put his arm around my shoulders, guiding me back to the tent, "tonight you drink as a man, Bedivere."

I woke up in an awful state, Tristan had to tip my cot to wake me up. "You bastard!" I growled when he flung open the tent to reveal the first light. "Shut the damn tent!"

"Wake up, boy," Tristan laughed, nudging me with his foot, "you drank enough to kill a boar last night—but you still have a duty to do. You'll learn to hide it soon enough."

When I didn't stand up, Tristan grabbed me by the collar of my tunic and dragged me out of the tent. Before I knew it, Tristan dunked me into the frigid water of a horse's trough. I sputtered and coughed in reply, but Tristan only dunked me again, this time I came up gasping for air. "I'm awake!" I shouted before he could do it again. "I'm awake!"

Tristan chuckled, reassuringly patting my back. "Good."

This time Tristan dragged me off to get the mornings rations. "_Eat_."

I looked at the food knowing I should, but my stomach was not in it. "I can't."

"You'll be sick all day if you don't," Tristan's tone became commanding, concerned almost, "eat, boy."

Seeing this as torture, I kept my mouth shut and did as he said, hoping Tristan's temper would not turn on me as other young boys' sparring partners had before. Part way through, I ducked my head under my meal and vomited. "You'll be all right," Tristan assured, patting my back, "just keep eating."

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I continued to eat, my stomach on fire. Tristan glanced at me, his eyes conveying some pity. "I shouldn't have let you drink last night."

"I'm fine." I said bitterly, not wanting any pity from him.

"Here," Tristan offered me a clay cup, filled with a strange liquid, "drink this."

Lamorak had once filled a similar cup with piss and given it to Percival as a drink—I wasn't taking chances. "_Drink_ it, boy."

"I don't trust you."

"Do you trust that I'll hit you if you don't drink that?"

I surveyed Tristan's face, knowing he would keep his word and wordlessly I took a drink of the bitter, but effervescent fluid. "Its peppermint tea," Tristan informed, "it will help your stomach."

Nodding in reply, I felt a little better and then gave him back his clay cup. "Thank you."

Tristan only nodded, taking it back, and he finished his breakfast. Later that day, when we sparred, Tristan went easy on me, seeing that I was going rather slow, but he warned me he'd not do it again. "If you can't handle the drink I'll insist you leave the next time." He warned, making me rouge severely for my handling of liquor.

I promised myself that I'd never let that happen again. Over the months Tristan taught me well, he gave me some of his wit and cleverness—the old fox. Without even noticing it, we'd become like brothers.

"How do you fight with all that hair in your face, Trist?"

Tristan smirked and laughed at my curiosity. "Why do you ask so many questions?"

I only smiled and then Tristan continued. "I'm not very good at braiding hair."

"I can do it for you." I assured him, then stopped myself immediately. "I mean, my—my mother only had boys, so she handed it down to us so that—"

"No, it's all right," Tristan laughed, clapping my shoulder with a grin, "but thank you."

Suddenly a familiar fist came swinging at my face and I ducked instantly. Bors laughed loudly and embraced me like a brother. "You're learning now, aren't you, lad?"

"Soon I'll be sending you to the dirt with a lump on your head, Bors."

Now Bors found my boldness hilarious, because he knew my threats would forever be idle. "That so, boy?"

"Oy, Bedivere," Dagonet said, outstretching his knuckles to rub them into my skull, "you're getting better at that."

"Thanks, Dag."

"Trist, we're goin' to the village tonight," Bors said, lowering his voice, "heard there's some pretty wenches near Hadrian's Wall."

"Aye," Tristan shrugged, his refusal already apparent, "and I've bedded most of them already."

"Come on, Trist," Bors insisted, "it'll be fun—don't be a sore sport. Bring the lad up for a try."

Tristan glanced at me, observing me warily, and then looked back at Bors. "Sorry."

No one refused Bors. Dagonet saw Bors grow red and instantly separated the two. "Come on, Bors, it'll be too late to go if we don't start off now."

Bors just glared at Tristan. "Don't you start goin' soft on me now, Trist."

"I'll be there next time." Tristan assured. "You don't want me stealing all the wench's hearts again, do you?"

"Leave that to Lancelot!" Dagonet laughed as Bors calmed quickly enough.

The two men departed and Tristan turned to me. "Don't ever go near that village, boy," Tristan warned, putting his arm over my shoulders for the first time, leading me to our tent, "full of them demon women who look like angels. You know what I mean, not good for young boys like yourself."

I smiled and nodded, feeling cold in the pit of my stomach. It was that night that I met Cai for who he truly was. When I woke with a start to the shattering of glass, I heard men outside and saw the shadows of three large bodies illuminated by some kind of lantern. I looked to my left, where Tristan should have been, but he was gone.

Quietly, I tried to go back to bed, until the men threw open the tent. "Trist!" The drunken son of Ectorius bellowed. "Where are you, you bastard?"

Shivering in silence, I listened quietly beneath my covers as Cai began to tear the place apart. "Stop that, Cai, you'll wake somebody up!"

"Shut-up!" Cai growled. "I'm the son of a general!"

The pig. In moments he tore off my covers and threw me out of bed. "Where's that shit, Tristan?"

"I—I don't know…" I replied startled as I tried to get to my feet.

"Stay down there," Cai snarled, putting his foot on my back, "like the whimpering _dog_ you are."

"Please," I begged, my voice quivering, "I don't know where Tristan is."

Cai released me momentarily only to bend down and observe my face. "You're pretty for a boy, aren't you?"

A callused hand gently caressed my face and I shook at his touch. "Cai!"

Cai stood immediately, seeing Arthur and a few others now in the tent—Bors and Dag were taking care of the boys outside. "Arthur," Cai laughed nervously, helping me to my feet and dusting me off, "where'd you run off to?"

I backed away from Cai, quickly being sheltered by Tristan. "Get out of my tent," Tristan commanded, "and if I see you near my page again, I'll not think twice about using my sword."

Glaring at Tristan, Cai looked to Arthur for defense, but the dark haired young man only crossed his arms in reply. "You're drunk, Cai." Lancelot snapped.

Arthur sighed, going to his step-brother. "Let me take you to your father."

Cai growled at reply, but Arthur was able to escort Cai from the tent, shooting me a look of concern. Lancelot faithfully followed his best friend as Gawain slapped my shoulder. "You all right, Bedivere?"

"Yes." I nodded, trying not to show my embarrassment as I wiped my face on my sleeve.

"You're bleeding," Tristan said and grabbed a bed sheet, handing it to me, "tilt your head back—don't worry about soiling the damn sheets, boy."

I did as Tristan said and soon we were alone. Finally, he permitted me to let me look forward, both of us no sitting on our cots. "I thought you said you weren't going."

Tristan shrugged. "I changed my mind."

For a moment I thought Tristan was reverting back to his old days of hating me. "Why…didn't you take me?"

"Because I wouldn't take my own little brother there, let alone you." Tristan replied, lying down in his cot. "I'm tired."

With that Tristan turned away and I slowly going back under the covers, glad Tristan had come when he did. "Tristan?"

"What?"

"You're the best friend I've ever had."


	3. The Girl Who Became a Hero

**Warning: **This is slightly riskier than the last two chapters, at least the first part, the rest is good. If you don't like the concept of rape, skip down to "Up boy!". I say nothing really, it just alludes to what Cai does. Otherwise, enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** I own nobody by the characterizations of Bedivere, Lamorak, Percival, and Kay (now Cai). I would like to obtain the rights to the knights of 'King Arthur', but sadly that would be near impossible.

**Author:** Boadicea  
**Rating**: R (rape)  
**Summary**: When searching Sarmatians, what is noted above all is their history of warrior women. I am surprised, and slightly appalled, that they made no mention of this in the movie 'King Arthur', so I did. Happy day!

**Please comment on this, tell me how I did!**

**The Girl Who Became a Hero**

Hadrian's Wall had been finished and we moved northward, under Arthur's supervision. Now each of the men had their own quarters in a huge hall with a large round table Arthur ordered to be built. We spent the night in the tavern, the men all wenching while I remained remotely sober. "Drink up, Bedivere!" Cried Galahad, drunkenly shoving a pint in my hands. "A toast!"

"I'd rather watch you all make fools of yourselves." I replied with a laugh and raised my glass. "May our days be merry and our conquest successful, despite it all."

All the men cheered in reply as I took a drink and then stood. "I must now retire," I announced, "I've other matters at hand."

"Come now, Bed," insisted Percival with a scarcely dressed woman on his knee, "why leave so soon?"

"Because, I need to use the little boys' room."

With that the knights laughed and I stumbled out of the place to one of the back rooms I thought to be vacant. A woman struggled under Cai's huge form. Instantly, I went to her aid. "Cai—you shit, you're drunker than the whole bloody tavern!"

Shoving Cai off, I was able to free the poor soul beneath him. With tears in her eyes, she ran off, trying to fix her broken bodice.

Cai grabbed me forcefully when he was able to stand. "_Brave_ little knight," he growled, alcohol soaking his breath as I struggled, "perhaps you will suffice as the girl you've just saved so valiantly!"

I was furious and terrified all at the same time—Cai was overpowering, drunk, and he was going to get all he wanted if I couldn't break free. "You bastard!" I snapped, kicking at him, but his grip only tightened as he grabbed my hair. "If you weren't Arthur's brother, I'd _kill_ you!"

Turning me around, Cai grabbed my arms and held them behind my back, glass shattering on the floor around us as I frantically tried to break free. Cai laughed pleasurably as loins grew heated with sadistic pleasure and he caressed my legs with his free hand. "You always _were_ a pretty one, Bedivere."

I snarled in rage, my eyes blurring as I wiggled about in his grasp like some sort of fish caught in a net. "Tristan!" I called out for help. "Arthur! Lancelot!"

"Quiet!" Cai knocked me on the back of my head, making me listless and dizzy. "That's better…"

For a few minutes I could barely move as I tried to shake myself out of the stupor, Cai touching me in various forbidden places. Suddenly he stopped and drew back, releasing. I fell to the floor in exhaustion and tried to stand, taking my only chance to run, but Cai stopped me, putting his boot on my chest, nearly suffocating me. "Can it be true?" Cai asked with great surprise, the drunkenness suddenly gone as he gazed at me with wide eyes. "Bedivere, Bedivere, Bedivere…what were you hiding from us all this time?"

"Let me go, Cai!" I commanded, grabbing at his boot.

"Shut-up!" He growled, pressing hard, making me unable to breathe. "Lift your tunic, Bedivere."

I spit at him, but he only laughed at me. "Oh, you should be more compliant, Bedivere, darling, you've a frightful situation on your hands." I coughed as he spoke slowly, loving every painful moment. "What should happen if word gets to Arthur and his knights?"

For a moment I considered it, fear playing on my face for him as Cai licked his lips. Then I glared at the brute. "They'd never believe you!"

"There are ways of convincing them." Cai replied and knelt down on top of me, straddling my form and holding down my arms as he leaned down to press his nose to my face. "Oh our sweet little Bedivere, a woman…can you imagine what would happen? They'd behead you, or worse, rape you one by one, then send you off to Rome for execution—you'd moan like a whore before your captors, giving them their pleasure before they took your life. Or perhaps they will take pity on you…give you life to be my mistress…"

"I'd rather suffer the likes of death than be your concubine!"

Cai punched me, making me rendering me nearly unconscious this time. "Little whore!" He spat.

"Please…" I resorted to begging even though I knew better, "Cai, don't do this—please!"

"Shhh," Cai whispered softly like a prowling leopard, taking both of my wrists in his left hand while undressing me with his right, "I'll be gentle this time, my darling."

I kicked my feet and struggled as best I could, but my strength only faded as managed to tie my hands with a cloth and then proceeded to take off my cuirass, followed by my under tunic. I lay before him now, nearly naked, the wrapping around my breasts was the only thing concealing me. "You bastard, Cai," I said weakly as he took off the linen, "I hate you—may Cerberus take you by his teeth…"

My words only made him laugh, making me shiver in return as he took my honor. When Cai finished with me, he allowed me to dress, but gave me a warning as he touched my face with his cursed hand. "Pretty little Bedivere," Cai smirked as I cringed, hair matted in my face, "we wouldn't want this getting out, now would we?"

I shook my head like a child, my eyes to the floor in shame. "Good," Cai then went to kiss me and I pulled away, "ah, ah, ah, little one."

Grabbing my chin, Cai forced his lips over mine and then his tongue raped mine for the last time that night. When he let me go, he had a smile on his face. "Tomorrow," he whispered, "come to my lodgings…or you _will_ regret it."

When he was gone I spit out his taste. The bloody shit he was.

"Up, boy!" Someone opened the door to my quarters. "What are you doing in bed so late? Arthur's concerned by your absence. Are you ill?"

"Go away," I growled, shoving my head in the pillows, my loins on fire from the night before, "I'm neither ill nor submissive this day…"

"Oh, Bedivere, come now." It was Percival and Galahad, of course. "You've gone entirely too soft, man."

"Wake up or we'll send Cai in to rouse you!"

I was in a rage and sat up, throwing the nearest thing at the intruders. "Mention his name before me again and I'll draw my dagger!"

The men glanced at each other with worry and then looked to me. "You all right, Bed?" Percival queried as I slumped back into the bed. "By the heavens, you'd think some wench refused you last night."

"I didn't see him with any wenches."

"Oh, you know Bedivere, he's not one for whores."

"I said to go away!" I snarled. "I'll be out in a minute!"

Shocked at my outrage, the two men quickly aborted their mission and closed the door behind them. I hadn't slept all night, crying for fear of all things that could come of my encounter with Cai.

That's when I remembered the fennel seeds from Lancelot. He had given them to me when advising me on women. _"Give this to the wench in her brew before you bed her,"_ he had suggested, holding up a small pouch of herbs, _"it'll keep her from giving you a reason to keep her."_

Finally, I stumbled out of bed, going to a shoddy box nearby where I kept all things of mine. Opening it, I sorted through my things and came to the pouch of fennel seeds. Cai was right, if they found my true nature, I would be forever ousted from the men. I'd be a woman to them, some sort trifle, perhaps even forced to be Cai's wife. It made me shutter.

I shoved the pouch into my tunic and put on my leather cuirass before opening the door and coming to the hall. Thankfully Percival and Galahad had gone, but I still had to worry about the other knights. "Sir Bedivere."

Lifting my eyes I saw a young woman, a servant, and I managed a smile. "Hello."

"Would you like anything?"

"Some warm milk perhaps—and a stirring stick, if you could."

"Yes sir."

With her eyes to the ground she left me be. To be a woman again—eyes always to the ground, the likes of a fool. I had a few minutes on my own to stir in most of fennel seeds and drank down the milk, a bitter taste staying in my mouth, but I didn't mind as long as the seeds would work.

"Bedivere," a familiar cheery voice said, "I hope we didn't wake you prematurely."

I turned to see Lancelot, the man who still claimed my heart after all these years. "Lance," I smiled finishing my drink and wiping my mouth on my sleeve, "forgive my late arrival, old friend."

The best friend of Arthur came towards me and smirked. "Arthur feared you'd too much to drink last night."

"A bit of a sore stomach," I replied, "give him my regrets."

Lancelot gave a nod at that. "He wishes you and I to go north with him."

"A capital idea." I snorted in reply.

With a slap to my shoulder, Lancelot only chuckled. "A fair rest from the others. Tristan attends, as well. He has only asked nine of us."

"Why only a mere nine when he could have twenty or thirty of us at his bidding?" I queried. "He knows, of all men, we love him most."

"A scouting mission, is all." Lancelot assured. "Besides, you wouldn't want Cai tagging along, would you?"

I became frigid at that remark. "Heavens above, never."

The week did not come soon enough. Tristan, Gawain, Lamorak, Lancelot, Bors, Dagonet, Percival, Galahad, and myself attended Arthur on this newest mission. At first the mission was a slow one, starting out nice enough on an irregularly sunny day as we traveled through the countryside.

Sometimes that rainy island could be the most beautiful sight in all the world. Like the boys they were, Galahad and Percival raced with their horses, while I remained by Tristan's side, as always. Dagonet and Bors chatted lively, well Bors did at least, Dagonet listened calmly and laughed here and there. "Most beautiful lady that Vanora." Bors smiled dreamily. "She's like stars at night, always there to guide you."

"Bors, need I clean my ears, or are you suddenly becoming a poet?"

"Somethin' wrong with that, boyo?" Bors's reprimand of me was lighter than usual. "So what if I speak pretty about my woman? She's more beautiful than all the land in Sarmatia."

"Hard to believe she belongs to you." Lancelot retorted as the others chuckled.

Hard to imagine my life without my many brothers. I lived for those days we were carefree and could be men as men were. "That's what I keep askin' him." Dagonet agreed, joining in on the fun.

"Oh shut it, all of ya." Bors commanded. "Just cause I reeled on in before all of ya, don't mean a thing."

Bors always had an eye and mouth for Vanora, for as long as I could remember. Vanora had caught old Bors before I had even known him. This would be one of the longest times he'd be away from his fair lady.

The weeks we spent in the north were the finest days of my life. No man could make me give that up for the world, not even Cai—may he try his worst.

It was one of those starry, clear nights that an attack came. Not from the Saxons, they had not been such a threat at a time, but by the Woads, the natives. Our reasoning was that the Romans had taken Sarmatia, why not the rest of the world? It was, to the men and I, inevitable.

I was tireless that night, the men had sat around the campfire sharing lewd stories and jokes, while I laughed. "What about you, Bedivere?" Bors queried. "What kind of tales do you have?"

The fire made my blush seem childish, when it was one of shame and the men laughed and teased. "He's probably got the best stories," Galahad insisted, "look at how red he is."

"No," I replied, "my stories are all simple and unsuitable."

"Come now, Bedivere," Gawain laughed, "we've shared ours."

"As well as I've shared many meals with the likes of you," I retorted, "I've nothing to say."

Percival grew impatient. "Bed!"

"He's probably never had a woman," Bors attacked, "still a boy, are you?"

"I've had my share of exploits," I shot back, "I just would rather remember them alone."

"Leave him be." Lancelot defended. "If he doesn't want to tell us about his lifeless nights, then so be it. More stories for me to tell."

The men chuckled at that. "Bedivere, you are far from prude." Arthur commented. "What have you to hide?"

"Forgive me, Arthur, for my rudeness, but what have you to know?" I shot back and stood furiously, going off on my own.

Dagonet laughed at my foolishness. "_Now_ you've upset him."

"Maybe he needs his mother's teet."

"Shut-up Bors." I heard Tristan say.

Finally I was out of earshot of the men, I didn't care what they said. I took a seat in a fallen tree and put my head in my hands. Hopefully those fennel seeds were working.

A creaking noise from the trees alerted me and I lifted my head to observe the thick forest the surrounded us. Woads. I began to draw my blade from its sheath silently when I felt someone grab my hair and hold something to my neck. "Lower your weapon, Roman."

The slim hands on my neck, the light voice—a woman. As much as I hated the Woads, I had to respect their women for their bravery. "Lower your weapon." The blade pressed harder to my neck.

Suddenly the woman shrieked and released me, her back arching as I ducked into the brush, Woads calling out to attack. "Bedivere!" I heard someone call. "Answer us!"

If I would, I'd surely be dead, a Woad sat inches away from me, staring me down with an arrow aimed for me. They were scouts as well, only two this way—but where were the others?

I escaped the man's arrow by some act of some forgotten god or goddess, raising to my feet to cut the archer down before he could bring another arrow forth. "I'm here!" I called to the men.

When I looked to the fire, it was out, but I could hear the struggle in the distance. Blindly, I ran back to where the fire should have been and like an idiot I ran right into someone. Lancelot prepared to swing his double swords at me and in a stupid ploy for my life I held up my hands for protection. "Bedivere, you idiot!" Lancelot snapped and grabbed my shoulder. "I could have killed you!"

"I can't see a damn thing."

"Neither can I."

"All right then," I swallowed, "give me your hand."

"What?"

"Well I don't want to kill you and don't want you killing me, do I?" I forced his hand into mine. "So this is about the best we can do, now come on!"

Just then, as we began to run toward the battle, something lit up the sky, and at first everyone was sure it was the sun…until it came hurtling down towards us. "Watch out!" Lancelot yanked me out of the path of the fiery arrows.

I realized a few moments later that I was completely alone, Lancelot had let go of my hand to fight. I saw Tristan, an arrow in his shoulder as he stumbled to defend himself, but then out of the corner of my eye Arthur fell, his sword being knocked out of his reach.

There was one person I had to save—I closed my eyes and ran for Arthur, drawing my blade. "Arthur!"

He looked to me just as I Woad brought up an axe. I threw Arthur my gladius and for a moment he was able to defend himself, until the blade was sliced in two and the axe came crashing down into the earth.

I turned to see Tristan was still fighting well, so I picked up the fallen sword of Arthur as my General did his best to defend himself without arms. The sword, named Excalibur, was heavier than I imagined—no wonder Arthur was so strong.

Arthur cried out. "Retreat!"

A Woad ran for me and I defended myself with the sword of Arthur's father. One slice and the Woad was down, I ran for Arthur again, this time my General had been wounded. Lancelot rushed in front of me, using both of his swords to defend Arthur, but was quickly surrounded by Woads.

I cut one Woad from the circle around, Lancelot, then another, and another. Lancelot cried out in pain, one of his swords was out of his reach while the other was falling from his hand. I cut down the Woad causing my brother pain, only to be rammed by another.

Excalibur fell from my grip and I tried to rise, but a foot slammed against my throat and a Woad stood overtop of me. Blood splattered on my face, the salty, metallic taste now on my tongue. A hand grabbed my shoulder and yanked me to my feet, we were retreating now.

"Run, Bedivere," Arthur shoved me away from the fighting, "save yourself!"

I refused. "Not without you, my lord!"

All the other men had run and I searched the bodies for familiar faces, but saw only the dark haired Woads. Arthur then nodded to Lancelot, who was wounded. "Help me, then."

I agreed, running to Lancelot's side as the Woads cried out and ran back to the forests. With Lancelot in our grip, Arthur and I retreated immediately.

"And so he saved our lives!" Arthur boasted as I tried my best to smile, the pain in my side from a wound still plaguing me. "When the call for retreat came, Bedivere instead fought the Woads with certain death at hand."

The cheers grew louder as I was being toasted and Lancelot held his cup up to me in thanks. "Let him speak!" Bors cried.

"Yes, speak!" Percival commanded.

"No, please—"

"You've never been so quiet about your exploits before, boy." Tristan ignored my shyness and shoved me into a stand. "Now speak!"

"Right," I lifted my glass, "I was only doing my duty."

"Your duty would have been to retreat." Gawain reminded, eyes shining with laughter.

"Aye, boy," Tristan stood, clasping my shoulder in his pride, "you could have turned tail run, but you stayed true to your honor."

"You'd have all done the same for me," I replied, the men all giving a happy agreement, "and so I say this toast belongs to our General, Arthur. May he live many happy years, may his bed always be warm, and his stomach always be full."

At this the men shouted their assents and drank down their pints. The meal was a good one, filling, and too soon the supper was over. We all departed, exhausted just from eating, to our quarters. "The little hero," I flinched as Cai slammed his hand into the wall ahead of me and then pressed me against the wall in the privacy of my own room, "if they only knew what you _really_ were."

"How did you get in here, Cai?"

"It's been so long, my pretty Bedivere," he said with a smile, "fulfill your duty and you won't have to worry about anything, _hero_."

Cai began to kiss my neck, I felt my fists ball, but if I were to remain a hero, I would have to do whatever it took to keep my brothers from ever knowing the truth. I loved the men too much to disappoint them.

**Furibondo**_Heavens! Thank you for pointing that out, I still haven't gone over to change the name from Kay to 'Cai'. I need to stop being lazy and do that, and thank you so very much for the review, it makes me happy ;)._

**sarmatian****-woman: **_Oh don't say such things! I'm sure your idea was divine! What harm ever came from writing? I would certainly read it ;)._

**_To all other commenters: thanks for all the praise! You keep my writing intact!_**


	4. Tristan

**Disclaimer:** I own nobody by the characterizations of Bedivere, Lamorak, Percival, and Kay (now Cai). I would like to obtain the rights to the knights of 'King Arthur', but sadly that would be near impossible.

**Rating**: PG (this chapter's fine)  
**Summary**: When searching Sarmatians, what is noted above all is their history of warrior women. I am surprised, and slightly appalled, that they made no mention of this in the movie 'King Arthur', so I did. Happy day! (More noting) This chapter elaborates on Tristan and Bedivere's relationship, it's occurs before 'The Girl Who Became a Hero', but I know there's going to have to be something that happens that pulls Trist and Bedivere apart since she chose to save Arthur and Lancelot over him. Who knows, but I've already devised that Tristan probably figured out on his own that Bedivere is a girl—he takes notice to details. ENJOY!

**Tristan**

"Get up, boy."

"My heart's not in it this day, Tristan." I replied tiredly, hoping that perhaps, Tristan would let me slack in my duties.

A hand slapped my back and went it rose, I felt Tristan lift me clear off the cot and shove me ahead. "Get the things."

I watched as Tristan stalked ahead while I stayed behind to grab our practice weaponry. That is what a page boy did, I had come to learn, they did all the work while the older sparring partners dilly dallied. Growling, I rolled my eyes and kept my tongue, taking the pack that was still far too heavy for me. _"One of these days it'll feel like nothing, lad,"_ Lancelot had assured me, _"if you live that long."_

Being trained by Tristan, I had learned to be nearly completely independent, and although we had been sharing a tent for almost a year, we had become like brothers. We lived together, we laughed together, and sometimes we fought together—and I can tell you now, our fights were never civil.

Now I named a time to you when Tristan beat on me, only a pounding to the chest, but get Tristan in a state when he was drunk and have you no way to defend yourself, watch out. Although I was able to duck soon enough, bless my bonnie head, some were not.

More times than spoken of Tristan had swung at me and gotten either Percival or Galahad in his wrath. Only once was I able to hit Tristan, and that was when he was _very_ drunk, but even then taking the rascal down was a bit of a challenge.

"Bedivere!" Gawain greeted me first, Galahad lagging sleepily behind him. "What brings you out so early this fine day?"

"The foul breath of Tristan." I retorted with a grin, but felt the sting of a hand across the back of my head.

My humor had been short lived due to Galahad and Gawain laughing at my reprimand. "Have you any rations yet?"

"No." Tristan answered for us. "And yourselves?"

"Gawain says a boy must feel the strain of muscles when one has no morning sustenance." Galahad replied solemnly.

I glared at Gawain, he was a bit ripe for a man—not skin and bones at all. Did he even have the least bit of knowledge what it was like to go hungry? "Good," Tristan slapped my shoulder, "more for us then, lad."

After a quick farewell, Tristan directed me toward the rations tent as we walked ahead. "Tristan?"

"Yes?"

"Would you do that to me?" I asked curiously. "Deliberately?"

"I'm aware that you are very familiar with the pain of surviving through hunger already," Tristan replied in a comforting tone, "when you first came, that shift you wear hung to your ankles."

I bit my lip. "It was awful…winter was the worst…"

"I know."

Tristan understood—he always understood. You never had to tell him anything, because he always already knew. Tristan had always been like that, with his scout's eye and instinct. He also had a sense of humor in most situations.

"You've grown into that tunic of yours quite well, Bedivere."

When we reached the rations tent, Lancelot was there with Arthur. "Trist," Lancelot turned, his smile as bright as the sun, "morning, Bed."

Tristan nodded as I laughed and gave my loud hello. "Lancelot, you old dog!"

Arthur lifted his brows a bit at my comfort with the older lads. "Oy, lad, here's a seat for you!" Bors announced, making his appearance with Dagonet, and patted a seat on the bench beside him.

I went to sit down when Tristan grabbed me by my elbow, that's when I noticed that there was a nettle on the seat. The men laughed at me, I blushed a bit, but it was all part of this game men had. I was still learning.

Finally we were all having breakfast, the young men talking as the mere boy sat in silence and ate. As usual, my seat was beside Tristan, on the end so I could hear only snippets of what they said between chewing and licking my fingers. Being sloppy and piggish was vulgar, but it made me all the more a boy.

"What about your lad there, Trist?" Lancelot asked. "Maybe he'd like a journey up to Hadrian's Wall."

I lifted my head a little and saw the men, except for Tristan, turn to me. "He's only a boy," Arthur insisted, "would you really want to drag him to Hadrian's Wall?"

Tristan never stopped eating, never gave me a glance. "Would you like to go, Bedivere?"

I certainly didn't want to be left behind to be preyed upon by Cai. "I wouldn't mind."

"Give us a straight answer." Bors insisted.

"Don't pressure him." Dagonet quieted the boar. "Surely you don't want to go, Bedivere."

"Of course he does." Lancelot commented and flashed me a grin. "Perhaps we'll find him a fair virgin."

My stomach went cold and I turned to Tristan. "I'm finished."

He glanced at my plate. "No your not."

My discomfort made me squirm and then Tristan raised his voice. "I've no time to go to Hadrian's Wall this night," and then he turned to me, "and should I see you sneaking out, I'll give you a beating with the flat of my sword, boy."

It was embarrassing, but he made no idle threats. The others had no trouble beating their sparring partners, or those boys who had sparring partners. This year the numbers for recruits had been lower than more. Next year would be more successful, they claimed. "Come now, Trist!" Lancelot sighed.

Arthur became curious, looking to me as if I may have the answer. "What have you to do?"

"Night practice." Tristan slapped my shoulder, nearly making me choke. "The lad's well ahead of the other boys his age—most are older than he."

When Tristan led me away from the other men, both of us side by side, I struggled to keep up with him as usual. For a time the two of us were silent as he led the way to practice—he liked practicing alone. If I would ask him to wait up, Tristan would only go faster to teach me a lesson.

Tristan crested the mound and disappeared, so I hiked up to come after him. In moments, I was on the ground, swords and arrows clattering all over the place. At first I expected Tristan to kick at me or shout at me like other boy's trainers did, but he only grabbed me by my arm, lifted me up, and dusted me off. No Saxon would do that for you.

"Are you all right, Bedivere?"

It was Tristan's way of showing he cared—using my name instead of 'lad' or 'boy'. "Yeah, I'm all right."

"Good," Tristan sighed, helping me gather the things, "you must be careful, you wouldn't want to die with your own sword through your belly, now would you?"

"No sir."

Any other trainer could turn temper without a moment's notice, so I kept wary as we lifted the things, Tristan taking half this time. I'd seen Lancelot kick a boy once when he'd gotten in the ebony haired young man's way and even Lamorak terrorized his own poor brother. "Tristan?"

I knew he heard me, but he didn't answer. "Tristan, why did you stop me from sitting on that nettle when you could have laughed at me like the others?"

"Look at me, Bedivere."

Stopping in my tracks, I gave Tristan a cautious eye. "I wouldn't harm you lest you give me cause," Tristan replied, speaking the most for all the time I'd known him, "and you're a good boy, a little bold and pigheaded—maybe a bit filled with air—but I'd not give you pain unless I'd see it fit."

I raised my brow at him. "But you swing at me when you're drunk."

"That's because you should know better, boy." Tristan retorted. "Someday you'll forget to duck and I'll smack that silly grin right off your face—then what lips do you have to talk back to me with?"

"So you like me then?"

Tristan laughed at me and knuckled me in the head as he went on down the mound. "Don't let it go to your head, lad."

"Someday, Tristan," I assured him, following, "there will be a time for me to repay you all you've given me—and I will."

"Don't get too far ahead, little brother," Tristan teased, "who's to say you'll live that long?"

"I survived a winter my own twin didn't—and this past one."

"The weather is nothing compared to Saxons, Woads, and beasts." Tristan replied. "You must always be on your feet, boy, always keep your eyes open."

"Someday we'll be knights, you and I." I replied confidently. "And soon enough, you'll be able to go home, Trist."

At that comment Tristan seemed a little aloof. Fourteen more years, I assured myself. Tristan only had eleven, the lucky dog. "I would have liked to ride home with you," I went on, "but Galahad and Percival will be there for me to cross the channel with and get off this damned isle. Then, someday, perhaps in the future, we'll see each other again."

Tristan finally stopped, and hesitated, then looked at me as he raised his curved scimitar. "I couldn't bear leaving another brother behind."


	5. Silent Discovery

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nobody by the characterizations of Bedivere, Lamorak, Percival, and Kay (now 'Cai'). I would like to obtain the rights to the knights of 'King Arthur', but sadly that would be near impossible.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: When searching Sarmatians, what is noted above all is their history of warrior women. I am surprised, and slightly appalled, that they made no mention of this in the movie 'King Arthur', so I did. Happy day! I actually decided to add on to the one-shot! It's kind of a small back story; there might be a few of these. Tell me how I did! More Trist-Bed Bonding.

**Silent Discovery**

"Come now, Bedivere," Galahad insisted as we scouted further up the river, "the quiet ones are always the ladies men."

"I promise you, Galahad." I looked to him, with a smirk. "What I said was true. I've never had a woman—I can certainly get along without them."

Grinning, Galahad shook his head, watching his step. "You're my friend, Bedivere, and I know when you're lying to me. You may have always been older than me, protecting Percival and I whenever you could, but you never could lie well."

"Galahad, I've had enough." I grew weary of Galahad's questioning. "I'm not going to reveal my nightly habits—I do as I want, when I want and no parchment that will keep me from freedom."

"Now you sound like Bors." Galahad teased. "Only smarter."

We both laughed together. Galahad had recently turned eighteen and I was only nineteen at the time. "Somehow, I believe that's a compliment."

Galahad laughed and elbowed me, just downriver there was a new bridge being built. As we walked along silently, keeping an eye out for Woads, we heard a cry from behind us and then a great crashing noise. The ground beneath us quivered.

Instantly Galahad and I exchanged worried looks and then glanced behind us. "Arthur!" I cried out, running back toward the bridge as the others did. "Galahad, the bridge has gone under!"

The river was swift in the early spring and incredibly cold despite the warming temperatures. The Thames was a mighty river and very unforgiving in its exploits. "I can see that, Bedivere!" Galahad shouted back, trying to keep up with me.

I skidded to a stop seeing a man floating downriver and Galahad nearly slammed into me, but slid to a stop nearby. "What are you doing?"

"Dagonet!" I cried out in horror, seeing the familiar man in the water, being carried back out after helping another. "Brother, hang on!"

"Bedivere!" Galahad tried to stop me as I tore off my armor and ran to the bank. "You don't know how to swim!"

Nothing could hold me back, Dagonet was my gentle giant of a brother, my silent protector and I could barely watch as the current swept him under again and again. The strongest man I knew was overcome by this damned water. "Save yourself!" Dagonet cried out. "Don't come in, Bedivere!"

Nonsense, I growled to myself and then waded into the water quickly, though hesitantly. "You're daft, Bedivere!" Galahad cried after me. "Daft!"

"Go help the others!" I turned and pointed to my right, where the rest of the men were. "They need you—"

For a moment the waters took my under, even waist-high was a dangerous campaign, but I soon gained my ground and looked back. I batted at the water with my hands, for there was no time to panic, and in moments I learned to maneuver in the water, my hands like paddles.

"Dagonet!" I shouted hopelessly, bobbing up and down in the restless waters. "Dagonet, answer me!"

"I'm here, boy!" A breathless Dagonet cried and I felt someone grab me by my shoulders. "Bedivere, grab hold of the fallen tree!"

Out of breath and freezing, I let Dagonet drag me up beside him. We were so far from the shore, but the great fallen tree was the only thing keeping us from drifting further downriver.

"You bloody dolt, Bedivere!" I felt a resounding smack against the back of my head. "What were you thinking?"

I was shivering already and by the time I was able to gain my senses, a large piece of driftwood came slamming by, knocking the fallen tree we had hold of, and throwing Dagonet back into the water. "Dagonet!"

Seeing Dagonet falling, I quickly grabbed hold of his hand with my own, but it only ended up pulling the both of us into the frigid waters. Underwater, everything went black and I felt something come down on me, holding me there.

I gasped, feeling the chilled waters filling my lungs. Panicking, I kicked and wiggled, but whatever pinned me down wasn't budging. My lungs were burning and I could hear the calls from above as I was driven deeply into the mud. The last thing I remember is two hands hooking beneath my underarms…

The slap woke me up quicker than anything else and I instantly began to cough up the water filling me. "He's alive!" Dagonet laughed and slapped the back of my shoulder. "You lucky dog, Bedivere, old boy!"

"Bedivere!" Percival cried out in relief. "Thank God you're all right!"

I blinked from the sun and looked to Dagonet. "You all right Dagonet?"

"Aye, and we wouldn't have been if Trist hadn't come to the rescue." Dagonet smirked and slapped Tristan, who looked rather peeved with me while Dagonet moved off to help the other men.

"Good." I said and tried to stand, but a pain shot through my pelvic area.

Groaning, I lay back down and held my stomach. "What's the matter?" Galahad queried in worry.

Tristan knelt at my side. "Are you all right, lad?"

"Tristan," I looked to him, finally feeling the pain and gritting my teeth, "you can't take me to the doctors…"

Percival glanced at Galahad and then to Tristan. "What does he mean by that?"

Grabbing Tristan's shirt, I glared at him. "Tristan, if you are my brother, you will help me to return to my quarters and seek a _private_ physician."

Tristan stared at me, his knowing silent look in his eyes and my confirmation was enough. "Galahad, go help Dagonet," Tristan commanded standing, "Percival, come with me."

"But, Bedivere—"

"Do it, Galahad!" I snapped unrelentingly and felt my odd bones shift as Tristan and Percival lifted me to my feet.

I cried out in pain, then bit my lip as Percival tried his best to be gentle and Galahad ran off. "Can you walk?" Tristan asked.

"I don't know…" I replied in agony, "I can barely move without screaming."

When I woke I thought my quarters were empty and there was a faint shaft of light from one of the windows. I turned my head to look around the room and saw Tristan. "Don't move." He said gently, placing his hand against my shoulder. "You've broken a very delicate bone."

I took his hand in mine, what pain relievers they had given me beginning to wear off. "Say you're still my brother…"

"I've always been your brother," Tristan smiled, for the first time in a very long time as he took a seat beside me, "I always will be."

Softly, Tristan brushed the hair from my face. "If I lost you, Tristan, I'd lose the world."

"I will say this once, lad, but listen well," Tristan insisted, "I have known for some time of your gender, there are ways of noticing differences. The bare, soft throat, you've hid things well…but there are men out there not as accepting as your brothers, even ones amongst them. This will never be spoken of amongst us again."

"And the physician?"

"I paid him well."


	6. Happy Birthday

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nobody by the characterizations of Bedivere, Lamorak, Percival, and Kay (now 'Cai'). I would like to obtain the rights to the knights of 'King Arthur', but sadly that would be near impossible.

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: When searching Sarmatians, what is noted above all is their history of warrior women. I am surprised, and slightly appalled, that they made no mention of this in the movie 'King Arthur', so I did. Happy day! I actually decided to add on to the one-shot! It's kind of a small back story; there might be a few of these. Tell me how I did! More Trist-Bed Bonding.

**Happy Birthday**

"Tristan!"

The voice gave me the shivers—I was always so fearful of Cai. Quickly, I slipped out of the back of the tent when Cai's lumbering form pushed through the entrance. "Trist!" Cai called again. "Blasted fool…"

I was sure Cai would only linger for a moment, seeing Tristan was gone, but as I watched from where I hid I could see Cai go to Tristan's things. Digging through Tristan's pack, the only memories Tristan had from home, Cai lifted out a beaded necklace.

Tristan told me his older sister had given it to him when she had been married, but now I saw Cai toss it aside. What if Cai should find something he liked? What if Tristan came and saw me hiding?

Shoving through the tent, I entered unwelcome and Cai turned to me. It was the only time I saw fright in the large man's eyes. "What are you doing?"

At first Cai was uncertain what to do, but then his brutality returned and his eyes darkened greatly. "Tristan's little fool, come a spying, have you?" Cai moved toward me and I stepped back tentatively. "I'll teach you a lesson for that, boy."

Without a second thought I turned and bolted, knowing I was no match for Cai—even his huge form could move faster than I could somehow. In moments Cai caught up to me and shoved me forward, the bully.

I slid across the mud of the camp grounds, my face and shift covered in thick mud. When I turned I saw Cai coming right for me, I knew I was in bad shape already until a shadow fell over me, a dark haired young man moving between the monster and myself.

Lancelot held Cai back casually. "Leave him be, Cai, he's nothing to worry over."

Quickly I got to my feet, wiping my face free of mud as I watched Cai try to shove by Lancelot. "Shut-up, Lancelot, you beggar."

With all his strength, Lancelot held Cai back. "He's a boy, Cai, just a damn _boy_."

My leg was stinging, I had gotten the worst of the blow there when I'd come down on it in the fall. I cringed seeing Cai's scowl directed at me and then the behemoth glowered at Lancelot, who beheld Cai fearlessly. "What a saint you are, Lancelot, for defending the _poor boy_." Cai snapped and shoved Lancelot back before stalking off.

Turning to me, Lancelot sighed, his face red from all the effort. "You should have run, you stupid boy."

"I did run." I replied, my boldness returning. "Besides, I thought you found humiliating _boys_ funny."

"I do." Lancelot shot back without hesitation and smirked.

When Lancelot did that, there was something so strange and familiar at the same time—that half grin, something riding the thin line between good and evil. I smiled in return and laughed. "Thank you, Lancelot." I said.

"Yes, well don't expect me to do it again," Lancelot retorted, coming toward me and locking my head in his arm, "I have a reputation to uphold, lad."

I pulled from of Lancelot's grip and laughed. "This is very fortuitous."

"For-what?"

"Fortuitous," I repeated with a smirk, "I mean, fortunate, sort of, because I was hoping to find you somewhere."

Lancelot grinned again, that same old grin I ever knew. "Find me, why little Bedivere, what for?"

"Tristan's birthday is coming up and—"

"Stop right there." Lancelot replied, stopping in his tracks and speaking in a strained tone. "First of all, you have been with us for two long years and second of all, you know better than to _ever_ mention Tristan's birthday."

"Aye, I know that," I said with a shrug, "It wasn't like I was going to wish him birthday. That'd be cause for death."

"Yes, Gawain learned the hard way." Lancelot agreed and sighed. "Poor lad…so go on, where was this conversation leading to?"

Lancelot was one of the only men in the camp I could lead an interesting and intelligent conversation with. Everyone else either treated me like dirt or, like Tristan, just flat-out ignored me most of the time. "I wanted to get Tristan something for his birthday."

"Didn't we just discuss the repercussions of reminding Tristan it was his birthday?"

"Well what's so wrong with it—it's just his damn birthday!"

Lancelot shook his head, annoyed with me. "He didn't tell you?"

"Tristan? Tell me something?" I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "I think not, good Lancelot."

"Tristan was celebrating his birthday when the Romans came for him." Lancelot said; his voice low. "Now do you see?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with it?" I shot back. "My brother _died_ on our birthday and I've no cause to hate it for that."

Lancelot stared at me, as if I was callous and foolish. "You're only a boy, you wouldn't understand."

"So much for asking _you_ for anything." I commented shortly and turned. "And don't expect me to alert you next time Tristan's stocking up on his winery!"

"Get back here!"

I lay in the tall, sweeping grass as Tristan whittled away at one of the apples he had plucked from the tree overhead. Yesterday, Tristan had gone and hidden, as usual, because his birthday. "Tristan?"

The tilt of his head showed he was listening and I sighed. "Do you ever think of home?"

There was a long pause as Tristan cut a fresh slice and handed it back to me. "I do."

"What was it like?" I asked as my dark hair, which had grown far too long, swept into my face. "Your home?"

I took a bite of the apple slice Tristan had given me as he contemplated my question silently. "I'm not sure," he said and I was startled by his reply, "I'm not sure if what I remember is memory or…what I dreamt home to be."

Sitting up, I stared at Tristan, feeling sorry for him. "I can't remember my mother's face…" I admitted, "but I can remember her smell…and her voice."

Tristan smiled in memory and nodded. "Mother smelled like bread, always of bread and fresh fruits…" Tristan looked to his green apple, "before I left, she gave me an apple—it was so green…like an emerald."

I shuddered at Tristan's tale, how much passion he held for his family that he could barely remember. "Will you go home when your duty is over?"

"Yes." Tristan replied immediately and then looked to me with one of his clever smirks. "If I can find it."

I felt a blush come to my cheeks as I spoke. "When my fifteen years are done and you still haven't found your people…you are more than welcome to accompany me to my home. They could use a few strong men like us."

Tristan scoffed at my naivety and fell onto his back with a laugh. "You dream too much, lad."

I pulled my knees close to my chest—I had bared my soul to Tristan for the first time in two years, my true feelings, the girl I used to be and I should have been so much more careful. Although I was still young, I felt much older than most boys my own age.

"Thank you."

The wind swept the hair from my face, stinging my damp eyes. "Pardon?"

"Thank you." Tristan repeated. "No one else has ever offered their home to me."

"Then why did you insult me?"

"To keep your head from expanding," Tristan teased, "you're so daft already."

I leapt at Tristan, attempting to pin him to the ground, to try and threaten him, but Tristan only shoved me off easily and laughed at my foolishness. "Come at me again and I'll use my right hook on your chin."

"Come on, Trist," I kicked some dirt at him, "too afraid to take me on, boyo?"

Tristan got to his feet quicker than I imagined and attacked, knocking the two of us down and pinning me to the ground. "Do you know what a Saxon could do to you in this position, boy?" Tristan revealed his knife, pressing it to my neck while his knees kept my arms in place. "This cut could be lethal, right below the chin here, but they'll go for something much more painful…"

Finally I was able to free my hands and shoved the knife away. "Get off me, you oaf!"

Tristan shoved me back to the ground and chuckled. "Imagine if I were Bors."

"You'd crush me to death!" I shouted as Tristan threw back his head and laughed. "And if you were Lancelot, you'd probably put nettles up my nose!"

"That's right," Tristan agreed and stood, yanking me to my feet, "be glad my temper is short and only rises when I am drunk."

"That's when you're at your slowest." I teased.

Tristan rubbed my hair around playfully. "And the only time you can outwit me, little brother."

We stopped for a moment; Tristan stared at me with as much confusion as I must have been gazing at him with. "You really think of me as a little brother?"

"Of course I do." Tristan smiled. "Who else dares to pester a man so?"

I hugged him, for the first time, and I could have cared less, my arms around his waist. Men only hugged for certain occasions and hugs were never truly felt. For a few seconds Tristan put up with my behavior and then pried me from his body. "Do that again and I'll give you a left and right hook, lad."

"Wait," I said digging into my pack, remembering what Lancelot had suggested, "look, I found this at one of the markets—I've been saving up to get you _something_."

"What's this?" Tristan laughed as I revealed a small parcel.

"Open it."

Tristan's eyes flashed and for a moment I was sure he was going to kill me, but then he looked to the package and began to open it, to my relief. Excitedly I waited and Tristan opened to find a jar of amber colored liquid

"It's honey!"

With confusion and annoyance, Tristan raised his brow.

"It's good for all sorts of things," I said with excitement, "it's an adhesive, it heals wounds very good, and it's very good on any type of meal—well, that's what the woman told me."

Tristan chuckled at me and lifted the cloth covering the top of the glass. Dipping his finger into the thick, amber liquid, Tristan tasted it and after a few moments gave a nod. "An odd sort of taste…"

"There's more."

"Oh yes, sorry."

Tristan handed me the honey and then looked into the parcel, but could see nothing. "No, no—the parcel itself, Trist."

"Oh." Tristan smirked and held up the parcel, unfolding it, revealing a strange cloth with odd symbols on it. "It's the banner of my tribe…" Looking to me, Tristan furrowed his brows. "How did you find this?"

Oh no. Now I had to tell him I was digging through his things again—he'd give me a crack for sure. "Well—"

Tristan only laughed and took the honey, covering it with the banner again. "Thank you, Bedivere."

"Yes, well," I said nervously, "well, you should thank Lancelot, he's the one who suggested the honey and—and…and in the village there's a woman who dyes cloths and makes tapestries and she did it so well."

"All right, all right," Tristan laughed and put his arm over my shoulders, "thank you."

**_My faithful readers: thank you so much for keeping me going ;)._**

**_To answer a few questions: the first chapter is a one shot in entirety, these are just 'what could have been' things that I write to keep me up to par with my writing ability. Practice, keeps me inventing and coming up with things. Yes, my beta reader sucks. (it's me)_**


	7. If You Are My Knight

**Disclaimer:** I own nobody by the characterizations of Bedivere, Lamorak, Percival, and Kay (now Cai). I would like to obtain the rights to the knights of 'King Arthur', but sadly that would be near impossible.  
**Rating: **PG  
**Summary**: When searching Sarmatians, what is noted above all is their history of warrior women. I am surprised, and slightly appalled, that they made no mention of this in the movie 'King Arthur', so I did. Happy day!

**Please comment on this, tell me how I did!**

**If You Are My Knight**

I stood behind the small changing station in my chambers and tugged at the tight dress. "Are you sure this will work?" I asked, still hidden from view. "I mean, will I truly look like a lady?"

"Must you question me Bedivere?" Percival admonished with a laugh as he rummaged through my things while I was busy. "You will truly look like a lady, I promise. Now come out here and let me see you."

"All right…" I sighed in discomfort and made the last attempt at helping my hair, then departed from behind the curtain, "well, what do you think?"

Percival stood, staring at me with a speechless look on his face and I knew the outcome could not be good. "You look…beautiful."

"Beautiful?"

"Yes," Percival insisted with wide eyes, for he was one of the only men who knew my true identity, "you…should wear something like that more often."

I blushed and smirked, cracking him on the shoulder. "Ow!" Percival grabbed his shoulder with a laugh. "And what a lady you'd make!"

"Oh Percival," I shot him a look, "you are always more than happy to woo anything in a frock. The thing is, you often fail."

"Well, you've wounded me again, my fair lady," Percival teased, pressing his hand over his heart, "let's just hope you can fool the other men as best as you've fooled me."

Worry blanched my face. "Oh, Percival…this is all wrong."

Taking my shoulders, Percival gazed at me with a grin. "You, Bedivere, or should I say Barcaide, will pull the wool over every man's eyes…and steal a lucky knight's heart."

At that, I embraced Percival and he hugged me back with a new warmth and kindness. "I'd do anything for you, old friend." Percival assured me. "Wherever you go, I follow, but will you allow me to do one thing?"

I pulled away and smiled at him. "Anything."

"Good," Percival grinned, reaching over and pinching my rump, making me jump and cry out as he laughed, "ha ha!"

In return, I slapped Percival across the head and rushed from the chambers as he followed, rubbing the left side of his cranium. "Wait!" Percival called. "I need to escort you into the tavern, milady!"

"I can very well do that _myself_!" I called back, going into a run.

I had been in the tavern so many times before, but this time seemed brand new. For the first time in many years, I was portraying my true nature—donning the garb of a woman, but I was so frightened.

All the men were laughing and talking in their usual places in the tavern as wenches were pulled onto their knees. When I saw Tristan, I nearly stopped in my tracks. No wench sat on his lap, for he was alone…as always.

I could not spy Lancelot despite it all and considered that he probably would have been with the other men. Walking toward the bar, I felt two hands encircle my waist and hot breath on my neck.

My initial reaction was to pummel the alcohol stinking pig, but the voice awoke me from deep within. "I was wondering when a maiden like you would stroll in," a familiar voice growled and I froze, being pulled onto a lap, "what's your name, darling?"

I gazed into two dark eyes, the familiar face of Lancelot that had been so radiant in all of my dreams now sunken and sallow from the drink. Never in all my life had I seen a man so changed by mead, for Tristan seemed only to become more violent and not aged. This was after Cai had taken my womanhood from me and he was in the north with a few other knights, staying out of my hair for the time being.

When Lancelot asked for my name, I opened my lips, but no sound emitted. "No worries then, love." Lancelot covered my lips with his.

I pulled away, disgusted by him—I stood and searched the tavern, but Percival was busy speaking with the others and Tristan was nowhere in sight now. Lancelot stood, laughing at my rejection. "Are you sure you're a woman?"

"My name is Barcaide," I said, facing the fact that I had forever wanted to love Lancelot as I had in my dreams, but at the moment of truth I found nothing lovely about him at all, "and you are far too drunk."

I thought of Tristan then…at first I did not understand why, but there was a reason. I glanced at the other men, then at Lancelot, who could barely stand, and I left the tavern without fulfilling my purpose.

Lancelot was too drunk to follow me as I left prematurely, not glancing back. I went to the bathhouse, where no man was this knight, and I took my seat inside, putting my face into my hands.

I felt tears sting my eyes as I bit my lip to keep from crying. Why had I thought Lancelot was anything more than what he truly was? Why had I thought of him as golden when I saw who he was? I believe I loved who he could have been.

"Can you breathe in that?"

Glancing up I saw no one in the bath house at first and then, out of the shadows, a familiar figure emerged. "Tristan…"

With a face as stoic as ever, Tristan moved toward me. "I almost didn't recognize you."

My heart fell and I nearly hid my face again until I heard Tristan sigh, softly. I was sure he was mocking me, but by his tone I could not tell. "You never dressed up like that for me when we shared a tent." Tristan spoke and then took his seat beside me. "What did you think of him, then?"

I sighed, knowing now that Tristan was not teasing me. "Lancelot's like every other man…"

"I could have told you that," Tristan glanced at me, "but…why did you proceed with it? Despite all you knew?"

"Because…" I replied quietly, as I began to remove make-up from my face, "I…I didn't see it, Tristan…I tried to think of Lancelot as lovely…perfect and I wanted to think he would change—perhaps by the mere sight of me."

"Things are not so, Bedivere." I felt his hand take mine away from wiping my make-up off. "Will you allow it to destroy everything? Not having life as you dreamed it?"

"But I just wanted everything to be as it should…for once." I replied as Tristan gazed at me. "And…the only person I wanted to be with tonight…was you, Tristan."

I felt him kiss me then, full on the mouth, and for the first time I felt a true kiss. In Tristan's embrace, I knew his love and his life…I knew that in his arms I could be safe, but when morning came, I knew that life would go back to how it was. It had to.

Pulling away, Tristan gazed at me. "If you will be my wench this night, I will be your Lancelot."

I laughed. "If you are my knight, I will be your lady."

Tristan smiled.


End file.
